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by Tia-Lewise
Summary: Submitted for my English creative writing.


_I submitted this story (some things, like Tira's master's death, are changed so my teacher wasn't confused) for my English creative writing and got an A*. Want to read?_

_I don't own SoulCalibur. Nuff said._

_~*~_

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The misguided angel of death.

Throughout her time with the European organisation, 'The Bird Of Passage,' that was the nickname bestowed to Tira. Raised as an assassin since birth, Tira had become addicted to killing; so addicted that she almost craved it, craved it as if she survived on the euphoric sensation she felt from witnessing mass bloodshed.

Tira was deeply adored by her master, but even as a young child she was not without fault; she was unstable and suffered from frequent, unexplained explosions of anger. Her master often had to subdue the raging child, in case she harmed anyone, until she calmed down. Tira's unexplained anger built up over the years until one day she raged…

…And her master was dead.

The Eiserne Drossel, the bladed ring the girl used as a weapon, dripped shining scarlet onto the cold stone floor beside the dead man's head. His throat lay open to the chilled air, and here was where Tira bitterly spat. She felt no remorse. None at all. Any remorse she could have felt was channelled out of her long ago, when her killing assignments began at the age of five. Yet seventeen year old Tira, with her feathered hair, dyed teal, and tattered green apparel, she appeared nothing like a ruthless killer with a bipolar personality. Only her ring blade served as a giveaway to her true intentions and identity.

"Master!"

The chorus of shocked voices rang out across the hall. Tira turned, eyes flashing. Every ring blade was raised in either defence or ready to attack. They were all focused on her.

This could have been enough to frighten anybody out of their minds. But Tira never lost her head for a second. Spinning her weapon menacingly above her head, she smiled a cheeky smile and chirped, "See ya!"

And with that, the misguided angel of death fled in a flash of green.

Tira had never ventured beyond the walls of the society she called her home, not without someone to keep an eye on her and to make sure the job was done. Tira had no idea where she was, and she had been travelling for days without food or supplies of any kind. Groaning in exasperation and dragging her feet lazily along the dusty, stony road, the girl continued on. It was cold, and the wind whipped at her skimpy assassin's gear, making her shiver. Tira gave up and sat down on a crudely hewn bench, wrapping her arms round herself. "This sucks…" muttered Tira, kicking her foot out; there were a few stones in her shoe that were irritating her. "What do I do now?"

Silence was not a good thing if you wanted to befriend Tira. But surrounded by other members of the Bird Of Passage, there was always someone to answer Tira. She had no idea that she was alone out on the road. "I said, _WHAT DO I DO NOW?" _Tira yelled, screwing her face up and balling her fists as she yelled for all she was worth. "_WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYONE? ANSWER ME!"_

Still there was nothing but the echo of Tira's voice to keep her company, and even that deserted her after a few moments. "Not fair…" moaned Tira, slumping forwards and dropping her head to her bare knees. The Eiserne Drossel fell to the rocky floor, the icy metal clanging. Tira remained where she was, not wanting to move for cold, though she'd never admit that to anyone, not even herself. She was too prideful to admit anything of the sort.

A faint rattling came from somewhere down the road, accompanied by a horse's whinny. The noise was unfamiliar to Tira, and she gazed in shock at the horse. She had never seen one before. The cart had stopped, and Tira groggily stood, her stiff joints cracking, and gingerly approached the horse. There was someone sat on it, but she paid the person no mind and reached out a hand to touch the horse's head. To her surprise it let her stroke it.

"She likes you," the man on the horse said, smiling down at Tira. Tira, this time, briefly glanced up. He had a round, cheerful face, a short auburn beard and hair of the same colour. Still, the girl was wary, and didn't say anything. She continued stroking the horse, her lips pursed and eyes downcast. The man didn't seem to mind that Tira was in the way, and jumped off the horse to approach the girl. Tira drew back with her weapon held up, her stance alert. "Easy, girl, I don't want to hurt you," the man said softly, as if Tira were another horse. "Easy now, just lower the weapon. See, I'm not armed. I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to."

Glaring venomously, the Eiserne Drossel was slowly lowered, but remained at Tira's side in case it had to be used. He continued to smile at her, and he patted the horse beside him. "She really does like you, you know. She doesn't let most people stroke her. I'd say you found a friend," he said, seemingly seeing past Tira's glare. "You don't talk much, do you?"

Tira shook her head. The man chuckled. "You couldn't make an exception and tell me your name?"

"_Just a few words couldn't hurt," _she thought. "…Tira…"

"A pretty name," the man replied, nodding. "Where are you from, Tira?"

"…I…I don't know."

The smile briefly dropped. "You don't know?" Tira shook her head again. Stroking his beard, the man thought. Finally, he said, "Well, I'm Arnold. Why don't you come with me? I have a wife and two children who could keep you company. You can stay with us if you want."

Tira had never heard of kindness or generosity. To her this was a plot to take her back to the Bird Of Passage, and she had no intention of going back there. And still…she liked the horse, and the man called Arnold seemed friendly. "Okay then," Tira nodded. Arnold chuckled again and swung himself up on the horse, holding out a hand to let Tira up as well.

"I'm a trader by profession," Arnold said as the horse (whose name was Lenna) began trotting. "The cart behind you holds various trinkets that I take to the market every so often. It's not a bad job, really. Keeps my family going and provides food and all that." Tira nodded though he couldn't see her from her seat behind him.

"_I wonder where I'm going…"_

Arnold took Tira back to his house in Dresden, where she was introduced to his wife Helen, and their two children, Anja and Frank. Anja, a typical bouncy, blonde six year old, took to Tira immediately and started showing her round the house with a sort of sickening enthusiasm. Tira didn't like Anja much, she wasn't used to small children, but she didn't mind 18 year old Frank so much. Helen…mostly she kept out of the way to let Tira adjust to her new home. That was the way Tira liked it.

Until a few months later...

"Tira! No!"

Helen's cry rang out shrilly, but Tira took no notice and continued lifting the latch on the cage of Anja's pet canary, curious to see if it could fly round the room. "Tira, stop that at once!" Helen yelled, starting towards the girl and grabbing her shoulder. By now the sunshine-yellow bird was free and perched on the windowsill, watching the scene with bright button-black eyes. Helen scolded, "Tira, you _know _not to let Anja's pets out; how many times have I told you?"

Tira shrugged her shoulder out of her foster mother's grip, a searing hatred bubbling inside her- a hatred that she couldn't recall knowing where it came from. By now Anja had appeared in the doorway and gasped when she saw her canary out of its cage; she ran to it and scooped it up in her tiny hands, cradling it to her breast. "What are you doing on the windowsill?" Anja crooned to the bird, which flapped and trilled in an attempt to free itself from her grip. "You know you shouldn't be let out, who let you out?" the small girl continued to say, while her mother scolded Tira further-

"I've been lenient so far, Tira, but the amount of times I have had to tell you off is getting to too many! You need to learn some manners, good behaviour and above all, patience!"

"_You _let Birdie out?" asked Anja incredulously, her eyes wide.

"Leave me alone!" yelled Tira, rushing to a corner where her beloved ring blade was resting against the wall. The enraged once-assassin picked it up and held it defensively as if ready to strike. "Don't tell me what to do! Leave me alone!"

"Put it down-"

-And the once-assassin returned to her profession once more...


End file.
